Page 144 of Face Off
“Neither do I.” I stick my tongue out at the camera. “I’m going to head to the locker room and dress. You all should too so we’re not late and stuck skating laps before the game.”
“Yes sir.” Grant gives me a salute and heads down the hall, talking to his followers.
“See you out there?” I say to Emmy.
“Yeah.” She nudges me as she passes. “And later tonight, I want you to fuck me wearing that jersey.”
I groan and put my head against the wall, embarrassed by how much her smirk turns me on.
FORTY
EMMY
“Whoever decidedto pair wine and pizza together is a genius.” I take a giant bite of my slice of pepperoni and wash it down with a sip of red. “This was a great idea, Lexi. Thank you for doing it on a night when we don’t have a game the next day so I can really enjoy.”
“I needed some friends to commiserate with. I had the worst date last night, and I don’t want to see another man ever again.” Lexi tops off Piper’s glass and leans back on the couch. “They all suck.”
“What happened?” Maven asks. “And how did you meet this one?”
“At the grocery store. We both reached for a package of oranges. He made a joke. I laughed. And that was the last time he made me laugh. I didn’t tell him I’m an athletic trainer, and we went to a sports bar for dinner. A basketball game was on, and the female sideline reporter was interviewing Colton Clark—you know that guy from Orlando? Anyway, this man turned to me, looked me dead in the eye, and said,I really wish women would stop talking about things they know nothing about.”
Piper gasps. “He did not.”
“Swear on my life. I sat through the meal because I’m too nice of a person, but I blocked his number the second I left. It’s so frustrating. Where are all the good men?” Lexi groans. “I’m thirty-one. There aren’t any winners left.”
“This is why I’m staying far away from dating. I downloaded an app on Saturday night just to poke around and see what’s out there, and I deleted it within minutes. Two separate people asked me to come over and sit on their face.” Piper blows out an irritated huff. “Being thirty and divorced sucks, and I wish I could find the man of my dreams by running into him on the sidewalk.”
“That stuff only happens in the movies.” Maven pulls a clump of cheese off her pizza and pops it in her mouth. “Not to sound like a bitch, but I’m so glad I have Dallas. I remember the headaches of dating, and they are not fun. I have enough horror stories to fill an entire book.”
“I once had a guy tell me he wanted to be referred to as King in the bedroom,” I say. “I thought I was transported back to regency London.”
“The audacity. Can you share your perfect fiancé with us, Mae?” Lexi asks. “I don’t even need a physical relationship, just someone of the opposite sex to have a civilized conversation with every now and then.”
“I wish I could, but he can barely handle me and June. I’m afraid of what it’s going to be like when she’s a teenager. Add in three more women, and he’d probably run off in the night and never call again.”
“No way.” Piper throws the end of a breadstick across the table. “That man is a saint, and he’s obsessed with you.”
“Seriously obsessed,” I agree. “He gets this dreamy look whenever he talks about you. When you come into a room, he lights up. It’s cute.”
“You want to talk about dreamy looks? How about Maverick and the way he was staring at you the other night when he wore your jersey to the arena? The tension in that hallway was insane.” Maven sets down her wineglass and rests her elbows on her thighs. “Did you know he waited there so he could surprise you?”
I swirl my drink around and blush. “No. I didn’t.”
It doesn’t surprise me, though.
That’s who Maverick is, I’m learning.
In the week since we put a label on our relationship, he’s been perfect. It’s such a cheesy and stupid word to use, but it’s true.
He bought me flowers and cooked me potatoes three different ways for dinner. He answers my texts almost the second they go through, and after I told him I was craving a sweet tea, he went to four different stores until he found the brand I like.
I tried to tell him he doesn’t have to do those things, that this isn’t an all or nothing arrangement, but the man picked up one of my romance novels, flopped on my bed, and told me he was learning how to be the perfect boyfriend by reading my books.
For having the reputation of a playboy who never spent more than a couple of hours with the same woman, he’s nailing this partner thing.
I’m doing my best to keep my guard down with him. I’ve stopped anticipating when something might go wrong, and my trust in him grows every time he smiles at me.
He’s nothing like the men in my past. I know that, and the more time I spend with my hands in his hair and his lips against my forehead, listing all the things he adores about me, the closer my heart comes to falling out of my chest.
